


A brief moment on the sidewalk

by lovinglydull



Category: Baccano!
Genre: F/M, Oneshot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-29
Updated: 2015-12-29
Packaged: 2018-05-10 02:43:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5566318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovinglydull/pseuds/lovinglydull
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A short, semisweet oneshot about Chane and Claire. Set around a few months after the Flying Pussyfoot incident. Not much else to say. A gift for my friend zelcher.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A brief moment on the sidewalk

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kurikku](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kurikku/gifts).



Chane was trained for all sorts of dangerous and messy business. Growing up as an agent of her father wasn't exactly easy, but it had given her skills that most people didn't have. And some that no one had. But, well... there were a few skills she was missing.

Mingling at a party happened to be one of them. Vocal handicap nonwithstanding.

It was nice of the Gandors to throw this party, of course. It was also nice that they extended their hospitality to so many people. Even the odd couple of thieves from the train. But...

She didn't belong there. She knew that. Or at the very least, believed it. That was as good as knowing.

She didn't want to make a stir. But she didn't want to stay in the thick of things, and hover around people who she didn't quite trust, who said things she could only smile and nod to. But she couldn't be rude enough to not show up when she was invited.

And so she started. First, near the center of the room. Next, towards the edge. Hour by hour, migrating slowly to the door and onto the street. Next hour, she'd be gone entirely. No fanfare, no fuss.

The hour until her freedom from social obligation seemed to come by at a snail's pace. No matter how much she glanced at her watch, it didn't tick any faster. But still, the minutes went by. The hour came closer.

And as it ticked down to twenty five minutes before she could walk silently into the night, she heard quiet, even footsteps behind her. She turned sharply, and took a step back. A reflex.

Standing in front of her was the strange man she'd met on the train. The one everyone called Felix Walken, but whom she knew by a rather different name... and here he was, standing and smiling at her. The tie to the fancy suit he'd worn to the party had somehow been misplaced, and his jacket was slung over one shoulder.

“I had a feeling you wouldn't enjoy the party. I didn't expect an escape so methodical, though. I myself would have just refused.”

The man she knew as Claire paused after this statement, and glanced at her face in a searching manner. Finally, satisfied with what he seemed to read, he stepped forward.

“... There's beauty in that. The fact that there's someone else in the world, and they're not the same as me. Sometimes I wonder how I'm lucky enough to share existence with you.”

She didn't know how to feel still, about Claire's insistent declarations. Some part of her kept screaming that they were lies. But she knew he was being honest. That he had no real reason to lie to her. But... she didn't really know.

Another exchange of glances. He held her eyes. A subtle tilt of his head, a slight bend to one knee. Asking permission to approach. Chane nodded. She trusted him, at least enough to let him approach.

The smile faded off Claire's face as he took a step closer. Seriousness took root. It was something she didn't think was very fitting. His face seemed much more accustomed to brevity and joviality. She preferred seeing him happy.

At that moment, the smile reappeared. And it reappeared larger than before. Strange. He must have had a good grasp of coincidence. Or... could he read minds?

In spite of his smile, his eyes seemed... sad. Not sad. Solemn. Somewhere between sad, and understanding. “It's taken me a while. I've never known anyone except myself. But I've learned. I do love you. And if you love someone enough, you begin to know what they feel. Words aren't necessary.”

Words weren't necessary. But actions were. She needed something more than his word.

Without really thinking about it, her arms opened up, ever so slightly. Hands reached out.

To less trained eyes, it seemed like she had barely moved. But Claire knew what it meant, and so did she.

Without another word, Claire took one more step, and stooped down ever so slightly. His arms slid under hers, gently. One wrapped around her waist. The other, brushing lightly over the small of her back. As delicate as silk.

Her own arms went up, resting gently over his shoulders. And though he was the one who had started the hug, she was the one who pulled him closer.

What did she feel? Warmth. Tenderness. A sense of fragility. As if Claire was afraid that too firm a grasp would shatter the illusion that had crept into his world.

Did he feel her? The heaviness bearing down on his neck? The slowly-receding reluctance? The knowledge that she didn't yet how to trust, but her determination to try? She was sure he did.

Perhaps he was genuine, after all. Perhaps.

The hug broke off. Chane stole a glance at her watch. The hour had lapsed. Apparently, they had been hugging for a while.

Not a word was exchanged as Chane stepped off, further out into the street, and down the block. Claire followed. She allowed it, and he knew.


End file.
